


Call Me Maybe

by glowinghorizons



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/glowinghorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian and Emma cross paths without knowing it and accidentally swap phones. They meet to exchange phones back after weeks of texting/phone calls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me Maybe

Killian has had the most spectacularly shit-filled week. Not only has his first week as senior editor at the publishing firm been nothing but headaches and problems, but he has just realized that the cell phone in his hand is not, in fact, his.

He wants to laugh, because this is just the fucking icing on the cake that has been this terrible, terrible week. “Bloody hell,” he groans, thinking of all the missed calls from his boss that have probably come through in the time he has had the wrong phone and runs a hand over his face, trying to ward off the migraine he can feel swiftly approaching.

He begins to trudge back to the office, hoping that somewhere along the way he can remember where in the hell he might have put his phone down for even a second. Before he can begin making a list in his head, the phone in his hand rings, and he looks down at the caller ID to see his phone number flashing on the screen.

_Thank god._

"Hello?" He answers, and is immediately greeted by a harsh, female voice.

"Why the hell do you have my phone?"

Killian blinks, startled by her tone of voice. “Excuse me?”

"My phone. You have it," she says, as if she’s explaining something to a small child.

"Well," he drawls, "it would stand to reason that the phone you have is likely mine then, yeah?"

It’s quiet on the other end of the line and he can practically hear the woman seething.  _Fiesty_ , he thinks, and quickly catches himself in the thought. He doesn’t have time for this.

"Look, we clearly both would like our phones back. Can we arrange a meeting to switch?" He asks, and hears her scoff.

"What are you, from the eighteenth century?" 

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind. I can’t meet with you right now, I’m out of town for the weekend," she says, and to her credit, she  _does_  sound apologetic, but it does nothing for the knot in the pit of his stomach. Knowing he’s going to have to call Regina and tell her that he’s without his phone is not going to make his boss happy, and it’s really the last thing he needs to do right now.

He sighs, “That phone is for my job. Just… we’ll meet Monday. But in the meantime, if you get any calls, texts or emails from a woman named Regina, that’s my boss. Please don’t do anything to make her angry.” She chuckles, and he is suddenly afraid. “I don’t think I like your tone, miss.”

"You’ll get over it. I’ll text you on Monday." She said, her tone clipped, and then the line was dead, leaving him feeling thoroughly overwhelmed.

////////////////

The weekend went by without any word from the mystery woman with his phone, and as predicted, he had received a long rant from Regina about how irresponsible he was being. She had given him the weekend off only because she didn’t really have another choice, and he had used it to try and get as much paperwork and editing done that he could, that way at least he had something to show for it by the time the work week started.

His job was fairly easy, on most days. As a senior editor at Mills Publishing, his job was simply that - to edit. He received all the manuscripts that the junior editors looked over and thought were worth pursuing, but ultimately he and three other editors got the final say in which manuscripts got to Regina for final approval. If she liked them, they got published. 

Killian had always loved books and reading, and even dabbled in writing before he discovered a love for editing. He was a linguist at heart, and this profession suited him perfectly. That’s not to say that it was a cakewalk, however. Usually he worked through the weekends and spent quite a bit of time working from home after hours. Regina was a demanding boss, but their publishing firm, although small, had a pristine reputation. 

To say having a weekend off was strange was an understatement. Killian wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, and for the first time in quite a few years, he missed having someone to share his time with. His apartment seemed empty, lonely, and he was quickly growing stir crazy. He considers going in to the office to kill some time, but is saved from his thoughts from the phone on his kitchen island buzzing. 

A text from the mystery woman herself.

 _you awake?_  

**It’s 9pm.**

_idk, you seemed kinda grumpy the other day. thought maybe u were old. ;)_

Killian smiles despite himself. Was she flirting with him? She didn’t seem like the type, but then again, you could never really get to know someone over one phone conversation.

**I’ll have you know I’m 29, lass. Hardly old. In my prime, I would say.**

_i’ve never met anyone who texts with punctuation and capitals. maybe u really are old._

**Laugh all you want.**

_i actually texted for a reason. can we meet next week instead? something came up._

Killian groans, his head hitting the island as he closes his eyes in frustration. Another week without his phone? Regina was going to kill him for sure. He’d have to buy a phone to use as a temporary; he didn’t much fancy using this other woman’s phone number. 

_sorry, i know you need your phone. i’m trying to get back to the city asap._

He stares at the text for a long time, wondering if she was sincere in her apology. He hadn’t heard from her in days and didn’t have any idea what she did for a living, so perhaps she was just as caught up in her job as he was with his. 

**It’s okay. Next week is fine. Just let me know if any calls come for me that sound important, okay?**

_will do. nothing so far, if that makes you feel better_

**Actually, that makes me nervous :’)**

He decides to lighten the tone, and leave it at that. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. He might be forced to not be so consumed with his work, and people had been telling him for years that being disconnected was exactly what he needed.

///////////////////////

Emma stares at the strange phone on her bedside table as if willing it to ring. She and the Irish stranger have had each other’s phones for a little over a week now, and she is no closer to coming back to the city than she had been when she left. Her target for the NYPD was being particularly evasive, and she had orders not to come back to the city until she had him.

Sighing, she rolls over in bed, willing herself not to look back at the phone. It’s stupid, really. They had talked on the phone two more times since exchanging phones, and texted more often, and she isn’t sure if she is imagining the more flirty tone that their texts were taking. 

When she had first spoken to him, she had been intrigued instantly. Who wouldn’t be? With that accent, and the low timbre of his voice, she was sure that if she had been speaking face-to-face with him, she would have been blushing furiously. It made her feel like a teenaged girl, and that was a time in her life that she definitely didn’t need any reminders of.

As if on cue, the phone started to ring, and she tried to restrain herself from leaping for it.

"Hello?" She answers, hoping she doesn’t sound too eager. She is on this particular job alone, which wasn’t uncommon, but still left her bored most nights. 

"You’re quite the popular lady tonight, lass." His deep voice comes over the line, causing a smile to form on her face. She tries to wipe it off once she notices, but can’t find it in her.

"Care to elaborate?"

"This phone has been ringing off the hook. I didn’t answer it because I knew it wasn’t you, but you’ve also been getting a lot of texts. I didn’t know if you’d want to know." He sounds nervous, and she doesn’t know why that made her anxious. What did she care what a stranger thought of her? As long as he wasn’t reading her messages or answering her calls, she didn’t care.

She realizes he’s been talking while she was lost in her thoughts, and only catches the last few words - words that make her heart freeze in her chest. “… someone named Neal.”

When she doesn’t answer for a few minutes due to her head spinning, she can hear him trying to talk to her, his voice quiet and concerned. “Hello?” He asks, and she shakes her head to try and clear her thoughts.

"I’m here."

"… Are you okay? Who’s Neal?"

"I don’t want to talk about it." Emma snaps, regretting it when she hears him sigh.

"Do you even want to know what he said?"

Emma can feel a headache coming on. Why did this have to happen now? Things in her life were going pretty well, and she didn’t want to deal with Neal or the issues that his name brought up inside of her. “No. I don’t want to know what he said,” she responds firmly, “Can you delete all those texts?”

It’s quiet on the other end of the line. “Are you sure?” Came his voice a moment later, and she wants to scream.

"Yes, I’m sure," she grits out.

"They’re deleted," he says quietly. "I didn’t read them."

"Thank you," Emma says, her voice soft and vulnerable. She hates that Neal is still able to make her feel like this. She feels oddly embarrassed. Even though the stranger on the other end of the line couldn’t see her, she knew that he could tell how uncomfortable that she was, and she didn’t like  _anyone_  to see her like this, no matter who they were or how long she had known them.

"I’ll let you go," he says, and before she can apologize, he is gone, leaving her feeling strangely guilty.

////////////////////////

Killian can’t sleep. It’s been two days since he’s talked to Phone Girl, as he had taken to calling her. The conversation with her, or lack thereof, had left him feeling unsettled, and he was racking his brains to figure out why he cared so much about the affairs of a complete stranger. He didn’t even know her  _name_ , for fuck’s sake.

Truth be told, he had found himself wondering about her more and more lately, and he wasn’t sure what to think about that. He found himself wondering what she was doing at any given moment, but most of all, he wonders what she looks like. It’s shallow, and he hates himself for it, but he can’t help it.

Their confrontation the other night had him concerned, and it had taken all of his self control to not go through her phone to try and figure out who Neal was. He had hurt her, of that Killian was sure, and the protective urge that had spread through him at hearing her hurt voice over the phone had taken him by surprise. 

The phone buzzed from somewhere tangled in his duvet, and he was happy to see a message from her on the screen.

_hey._

Simple, but it still made him smile.

**Hey yourself.**

_you’re up late, grandpa_

Killian sighs, but can’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. 

**I have a day off tomorrow, for once. And I thought we established that I’m a strapping young man?**

_lucky u. i never get a day off. and only old men say “strapping young man”_

Killian chuckles and runs a hand over his face as he rolls over in bed to get more comfortable. He wonders briefly if she is in bed as well, but decides against asking.

**So, to what do I owe the pleasure?**

_can’t sleep._

Killian ponders over what he wants to ask before he finally decides to throw caution to the wind.

**Everything ok?**

It is a long time before another message comes through, and Killian releases a breath that he hadn’t even realized he had been holding.

_can i call?_

**Sure.**

A few seconds later, the phone rings. “So?” He asks, “What’s keeping you awake?”

She sighs into the phone, and he waits patiently for her answer, even if he was dying for just a little glimpse into her life. “That person that apparently called me the other night is my ex.”

"Ah," Killian says knowingly.

"We didn’t… we didn’t end on the best of terms. I was surprised that he tried to contact me."

"You sounded angry, although I’m sure that’s presumptuous of me to say."

"I am angry. I’m angry because… because where does he get off?" 

Killian doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. 

"He  _left me_ , and now he suddenly has something to say?” She laughs bitterly, “It’s pathetic.”

"I’m sorry, love." He says, and curses inwardly when the term of endearment passes his lips without a second thought. 

"It’s fine, I’m… I’m over it, I really am. I just didn’t expect to hear from him." Killian hears her let out a deep breath, "I didn’t mean to take it out on you, either." She says, and he smiles softly even though she can’t see him.

"Don’t fret, lass. How’s the job going?" He asks, changing the subject.

"Not great," she says, sounding weary, "I don’t know if I mentioned, but I’m basically a contractor for the NYPD."

"I knew you did something mysterious," he teases her, pleased when he hears her chuckle on the other end of the line.

"It’s hardly mysterious."

"It’s intriguing though; how did you get involved with a job like that?" 

She is quiet for a minute and he’s afraid that he has asked the wrong question, or touched on a sore subject. Just as he was getting ready to apologize, he hears her soft reply, “I got into some trouble when I was a teenager. I figured the only way to get rid of my never-ending guilt was to work for the police.”

Killian rubs his jaw, feeling a strange emotion as another piece of the puzzle that was this woman slides into place, “You and I seem to have quite a bit in common, then.”

They’re both lost in their own thoughts for a moment, and Killian struggles to identify what it was he’s feeling. He barely knows this woman, has only had a few conversations with her, but he  _wants_  to know her. He wants to know more about her job, and her past, and her history with Neal, and the desperation he felt to  _know_  her was slightly overwhelming. 

"My name is Emma," she blurts suddenly, and his brain goes into overdrive, because her name is  _Emma_  and she works for the police department and he realizes that since she has his phone, he could lose his job, but at the moment he also realizes that he doesn’t care.

///////////////////////////////////

"I can’t believe you talked me into watching this."

"I can’t believe you’ve never seen this before. It’s a travesty."

Emma rolls her eyes, feeling relieved that he can’t see her grin. “This is the worst movie in the history of mankind.”

"That’s sort of the point, love." He says, and she adjusts her feet on the footrest in her small hotel room.

She doesn’t quite know how she ended up here - in a crappy hotel room, watching “Sharknado” at two in the morning while on the phone with Killian (yes,  _Killian_ , as if his accent wasn’t enough to thoroughly distract her). 

"Okay, that," she gestures vaguely at the screen despite the fact that she is alone in the room, "that is not even remotely physically possible."

"This is a movie about a tornado filled with sharks." He deadpans, and she can’t stop it if she tried - her laughter is uncontrollable and she blames it firmly on the fact that it is the middle of the night and she is  _tired_.

"That’s quite the laugh you’ve got there," he teases her and the blush that fills her cheeks is embarrassing, to say the least.

"Shut up."

"So hostile, darling. You really should talk to someone about your issues."

“ _My_  issues? You’re the one emotionally invested in a SyFy movie.”

"And you’re right there with me," he sings, his voice smug. "Don’t act like you’re not enjoying how terrible this is."

"I admit nothing."

Emma falls asleep with the phone still pressed to her ear, a smile on her face.

//////////////////////////////////

Another week went by with sporadic texts exchanged between the two, but it had been three days since he had spoken to Emma, and he can’t help but feel nervous and anxious. Now that he knows what she does for a living, the protective urge he felt when she spoke about her ex-boyfriend was back with a vengeance, and the phone silence from the last few days was not helping.

Killian buries himself in his work to try and get his mind off of this woman that he barely knew, but his heart isn’t in it. He knows the other editors have noticed that he was distracted, but luckily they hadn’t said anything. He’s in his office on a Thursday when the phone he keeps hidden in his drawer starts to ring, and he fumbles for it, nearly dropping it in his haste. 

"Where the bloody hell have you been?!" He demands, not even bothering with pleasantries. 

"Hello to you too," Emma grumbles, and Killian’s breath leaves him in a whoosh at the sound of her voice.

"Are you alright?"

"I’m fine," she says quickly, and he gets the impression that she isn’t telling the entire truth. "I finally caught up to my mark, but he made a run for it and the last few days have been spent driving around New Jersey trying to hunt him down."

"But you got him, didn’t you?" He asks, a note of pride echoing throughout his voice. 

"I did," she confirms, and he wonders if he is imagining the smile in her voice.

"I…" he starts, debating finishing his sentence at all. "I was worried when I didn’t hear from you."

She’s quiet.

"Killian…" she starts, and his hand clenches at his side. "Sorry," she mutters. "Listen, I’m going to be back in the city tomorrow. We can meet to switch phones."

The finality in her voice causes his heart to thud in his chest and he  _shouldn’t be feeling like this_ _._ He doesn’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way he has gotten very used to texts and phone calls from Emma, and he’s going to feel strangely bereft without them.

They arrange a time and a place, and when she hangs up, the tightness in his chest intensifies.

////////////////////////////

Emma waits back at the scene of the crime, as it were - the Starbucks where she assumed that this entire thing happened. Her palms are slightly sweaty as she waits for Killian, and that fact irritates her more than anything else. She barely knows him, barely knows anything about him, but yet he has become such a presence in her life that she knows she’s going to miss him.

She’s not used to missing anyone.

The phone in her hand vibrates, and she jumps about three feet in the air. Looking down at the caller ID, she sees his phone number ( _her_  phone number) and her heart clenches painfully in her chest.

"Hey," she answers, her voice soft, and all she can hear is him breathing.

"Emma." He says her name so reverently that she closes her eyes, emotions crashing over her almost violently. "Are you there?"

"I’m here," she says.

"Before we meet…" he trails off, and she can hear him taking a deep breath. She’s so nervous she doesn’t know what to do with herself and when did this man start to mean so much to her? "Before we meet, I just wanted to let you know that… that I’m really glad that we’ve met. Even if it wasn’t in person."

"Killian," she breathes, and she can hear his breath hitch through the speaker. "I’m glad too." 

"Are you ready?"

"As I’ll ever be," she replies, and without another word, she turns to the spot that they agreed upon, seeing a man -  _him_  - sitting at the table, her phone pressed against his ear, the bluest eyes she has ever seen boring holes into her. 

She has never considered herself to be a lucky person, but this is just too good to be true. He isn’t just handsome, he is  _gorgeous_ , and he’s staring at her like he can’t believe that she’s real, and her feet are carrying her to the table before she can comprehend what’s happening.

////////////////////////////////

She’s  _perfect_. It’s the only thought in his mind; the only thought that stands out among the million other things that he is feeling at the moment. She’s all blonde curls and long legs, her eyes are so  _green_  and  _fuck_. She’s standing right in front of him now, and they both still have their phones against their faces and he can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t —

"Killian?" She asks and hearing her voice in person is better than any phone call.

He takes the phone away from his ear and stands, smiling awkwardly. “Emma,” he greets, and he doesn’t know how to do this, how to greet her, how to tell her (or show her) what he’s feeling. 

She doesn’t say anything, simply holds out the hand with his phone in it, and when he reaches for it, their fingers brush together lightly, and the sparks travel straight to his heart. His eyes snap to hers, and hers are wide, wide and  _gods, she’s perfect_.

"Thanks," she says, blushing as she takes her phone, and he can’t help it - he laughs.

He laughs and suddenly she’s laughing too, and tears are springing to her eyes as they both let it sink in how  _weird_ this entire thing is. He touches her elbow lightly and guides her out of the Starbucks and onto the street, away from curious ears and eyes. “I feel like I’m on a blind date,” he admits, and her grin is infectious.

"I’d say we’re well past that by now, wouldn’t you?" Her voice is light, teasing, and he wants to pull her into his arms and never let go.

"Are you implying that we’re  _dating_?” He asks, waggling his eyebrows for effect.

"Maybe that we should be," she counters, taking him by surprise. His heart feels like it stutters to a stop in his chest, and she’s moving closer. Her feet are practically in between his now, and he finds their height difference incredibly attractive. Her eyes are level with his neck and as she raises herself up on her toes, his eyes lock onto hers and  _this is it_ , he thinks,  _this is that feeling everyone is always talking about_ _._

Before he can talk himself out of it, he leans in, catching her lips with his, a muffled groan escaping him when she immediately opens to him, a quiet gasp leaving her lips. Her hand touches the side of his face almost reverently, and when they pull away, their foreheads are still touching, and his eyes stay shut as they sway together, their hips bumping lightly. 

"Emma," he says quietly, "This is crazy."

"I know," she says, and  _Jesus_ , her voice is husky and low and he shivers, “I’ve just met you. You could be a serial killer.”

"I’m offended," he jokes, opening his eyes to meet hers, the fingers on their hands lacing together almost naturally.

"Call me?" She asks him, as if she needs to  _ask_ , and he tugs her closer, his free hand tangling through her curls. 

"You can count on it."

 


End file.
